


Costumed Drama

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Kittie And Gem Stories [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Blind Date, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Frottage, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Humour, I may have got a little excited about the special, Jealous John, Party, Sherlock dislikes parties, Smut is here!, and included bits into the story, flirty Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John invites Sherlock to a Halloween party. What's the worst that can happen?</p><p>This is our attempt at a funny Halloween story I'm hoping to get finished before the night...</p><p>Beta'd by SherlockHolmesConsultingVampire <3. I played John, Gem was Sherlock and then I edited it (for the first time!)</p><p>Comment? Please? I've missed you all so much since I've been at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John wasn’t sure what he expected when he invited Sherlock to a Halloween party; he thought perhaps Sherlock would refuse or sulk for a while but he hadn’t expected the vitriolic rant which came from the detective as he paced back and forth.

“I’m not going,” Sherlock snapped curtly as he pushed up from the kitchen table, leaving the microscope and his current experiment to stomp through to the living room, his burgundy dressing gown billowing out behind him. “Why must you always try and drag me to these inane parties, John? Christmas and New Years is one thing, but Halloween? Easter? What’s next, Valentines Day? No. I’m not going. Go on your own. Like you did last Halloween, and the Halloween before that—It’s ridiculous, John! And I know why you go to these "gatherings," I’ve seen the steady descent over the years concerning the female equivalents of Halloween costumes.”

John rolled his eyes and recrossed his legs as he listened to Sherlock complain.

“Tell me, how exactly can one make a Zombie "sexy"? Even with a short skirt and a mass amount of cleavage, it’s still meant to be an animated corpse, how is that stimulating? How do people see a woman covered in fake blood and guts, with ripped clothing, and go “Hm. Yes. I wouldn’t mind sticking my penis into that!”-- Monstrous beings are not meant to be erotic!”

“I didn’t say it was!” John replied with a chuckle. “And please never say penis, it’s weird.”

“And does no one recall the history of Halloween?” Sherlock continued. “It’s a contraction of “All Hallows’ Eve,” a yearly celebration which initiates a three-day religious observance of Allhallowtide, the time in the liturgical year devoted to remembering the dead, including saints, martyrs, and faithful departed believers. The traditional application revolves around the theme of using “humour and ridicule to confront the power of death.” Once it was a time for silly church services and lighting candles on graves of loved ones and other such nonsense, but now it’s all cast aside for the commercialised and secularised celebration of something even worse than religious tripe; now it’s filled with half naked women dressed as “sexy” ghosts, Zombies, Vampires, and bloody dark imps of some kind, gyrating against others dressed just as stupidly, in a club filled with so-called music, whilst children bother their neighbours for “sweeties” that they don’t deserve!”

“I think you’re just upset because Mrs Hudson wouldn’t let you eat all of her toffee apples.” John smiled. “Or is this a childhood thing? Did Mycroft eat all of the sweets before you had a chance?”

Sherlock glared angrily, his face stormy as he crossed his arms and stared down at John. “My brother was always a glutton. He _always_ got to the manor’s cook first so that he could lick the bowls and spoons. It wasn’t fair,” he sulked.

John rolled his eyes dramatically and folded his arms around his chest. “You say this about Christmas too, yet every year you’re tucking into the mince pies and drinking Mrs Hudson’s ethanol punch until you’re giggling. You’ll enjoy yourself and we both know you like dressing up!”

“No,” Sherlock said, twirling on his heel to loom into John’s personal space grumpily, still geared up in his tantrum. “No, John. That’s different, that’s Mrs Hudson, that’s Christmas at the flat away from others! You want me to go and… mingle.” He sneered the last word as if it physically disgusted him and then folded his arms, mimicking John. “Why must I go? Take Lestrade.”

“Greg,” John started but trailed off when he saw Sherlock blinking in confusion. “Lestrade is with his family tonight. He’s back with his wife and they’re taking the kids to a Halloween disco. His wife has promised to make a go of it.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and blew air into his fringe to move it from his eyes. “No she won’t. She’s already sleeping with the leader of her son's Scout troupe. I keep telling Lestrade he should divorce her, even offered him the option to use the Holmes family solicitor for free to ensure he keeps his police pension but he’s being stubborn and sentimental.”

“He loves his wife,” John replied, rubbing at his eyes as he imagined Lestrade dancing with his youngest daughter to terrible novelty disco songs. “So as my only— and best friend, you have to come.” He gave Sherlock a sad look, large puppy dog eyes blinked up at Sherlock’s face whilst his bottom lip pouted “You won’t have to mingle. I’ll let you stay and deduce to me all night. Or text me if you want to walk around but it’ll be fun. I’ll make sure you have fun.”

“I want it in writing,” Sherlock insisted and grabbed a piece of paper from the desk along with a posh fountain pen. “I want you to declare that it will be fun.”

“This is ridiculous,” John scoffed, moving to escape the room. “I’m not signing a contract!”

“Then I’m not going,” Sherlock shrugged, holding the pen out temptingly.

“Bloody hell, fine,” the doctor grumbled as he walked over and began to scribble on the paper.

**I hereby promise that the Halloween party I have invited one Sherlock Holmes to, will be fun.**

**Signed, Captain John Hamish Watson, M.D.**

Sherlock seemed pleased at the wording and folded up the document and placed it in his pocket before turning around to John with a smile. “You’ll owe me,” he asked, “and you’ll owe me big? Agreed?”

John rolled his eyes once more and gave a brief nod. “Fine. I’ll owe you. So you’ll come?”

“Yes,” Sherlock sighed loudly, flicking his eyes at John. “Do I have to dress up? What are you dressing as?”

John rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I er… I was just going to put my fatigues on. Not original I know but it was either that, or my white coat and I think that’s too cliché even for me.” He smiled. “So yeah. Army doctor it is. What about you? Do you have anything suitable?”

Sherlock arched his eyebrow at John’s choice and then looked away thoughtfully, sitting back down at the kitchen table. “When is this party starting again?” He asked politely, all evidence of his outburst forgotten.

“I said we would be there about 8. It’s a friend of Mike’s. Should be lots of people you know from the hospital so you won’t be totally out of your comfort zone,” John soothed with a smile, slightly giddy that he had convinced Sherlock into coming out and finally socialising with other people.

“As long as you’re there, I’m not all that interested in anyone else,” Sherlock murmured as he peered back into his microscope, replacing the slides he was inspecting with deft movements. He flitted his gaze sideways to look at John and then smiled softly, his lips quirking up and to one side.

“Aww, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said,” John chuckled before turning his body away from Sherlock. “You should start getting ready. You take forevvvvvver,” he elongated the word and began wandering up to his bedroom to sort out his own costume. “Do you need anything?”

“Nope,” Sherlock replied, popping the “P” arrogantly and turning his attention back to his experiment, looking like he had no intention to actually move from his place at the kitchen table.

“Fine.” John shrugged. “If you’re not ready by the time I’m ready though, I’ll carry you over my shoulder clad in whatever you’re wearing at the time,” he threatened with a grin before hopping up the stairs with a cheery whistle towards the bathroom.

Turning on the shower, John climbed under the water and scrubbed at his skin. His stomach was slightly in knots at the thought of going out with Sherlock and he wasn’t sure why; they worked together, lived together, so surely socialising wouldn’t be too much different to their everyday life? He washed his hair and felt the suds rushing across his chest and down his stomach to dribble across his cock, which gave an interested twitch. John ignored the urge to touch himself and instead focussed on Sherlock. The detective had been his usual irritating self but John had found himself making more excuses for the younger man’s behaviour, sticking up for him and defending him against people calling him "freak" or "wanker".

His feelings had become confused recently; John had awoken from a lucid and extremely filthy dream in which he and Sherlock had made passionate love on the moors of Baskerville using Sherlock’s great coat as a blanket. Attempting to pass the dream off as being merely overworked and overtired, he had tried to ignore the strange tingles he felt in his stomach whenever Sherlock sauntered into a room or marched around a crime scene.

John reached for the shower control and turned off the water; grabbing the towel he rubbed his face and attempted to push his sexual crisis to the back of his mind as he stepped from the tub and wandered into his room to change.

After an hour, and a lot of indecision about the tightness of his fatigue trousers and whether he should wear his dogtags (he decided on yes), John returned downstairs and began lacing up the sturdy Army given boots whilst sitting in his chair. He looked over at the kitchen and noticed that Sherlock was no longer seated there and the bomb site which was Sherlock’s experiment had been cleared away too. John smiled, lacing up his boots automatically and without thinking as his fingers worked on muscle memory whilst he hummed softly to himself.

Sherlock strolled from his bedroom two minutes later clad in a dark red and black Victorian looking suit, a black cloak attached to his shoulders and a top hat perched on his head. He smirked over at John as he swung an elegant silver handled cane out before him as he walked, tapping it on the ground gently, and came to stand beside John’s chair with a flourish. The suit was completed with a dark black cravat, waistcoat, and a silver pocket watch chain that dangled elegantly at his waist. Sherlock took the hat off and arched his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for comment.

“Are you a vampire?” John frowned. “Like that posh one from Interview with a Vampire… what’s his face… Tom Cruise?”

“What? No. I’m Jack the Ripper—well, not exactly. Obviously. This is merely what people imagine he looks like, going from the amount of illustrations and works of fiction that were inspired by the murders. I took inspiration from a list of them—It’s a fascinating case, even now. I’ve gone over all the evidence myself, seen the suspects, cross-referenced information and so on, but I cannot pinpoint the exact person, not really… It would have been equally as taxing even back then, no doubt.” Sherlock straightened his hat but tilted his head as though once more going through the evidence in his own head. “The police were just as stupid, perhaps more so, back then. Traipsing all over the crime scenes like bumbling idiots, contaminating and theorising; wrongly I might add. Plus, some of it doesn’t add up, and the letters were… interesting, to say the least,” Sherlock told him, tapping the cane on the floor in a motion that looked awfully similar to how Mycroft handled his umbrella.

“You’ve come as Jack the Ripper… Of course!” John smiled. “Why not Ted Bundy? Or Jeff Dahmer?... actually never mind. I shouldn’t indulge you.”

Grabbing a replica handgun from the side, John slid it into the back of his belt before standing up straight with his shoulders back, an old army habit he immediately fell back into. “Ready to go?”

“What would you have me dress as instead then? A skeleton? A Zombie, perhaps? If I had, I’d be awfully hungry—hardly anyone has brains nowadays,” Sherlock muttered as he fiddled with the top hat, pushing back his wild curls as he turned to stalk from the flat. “You can always tell other people I’m the Vampire Lestat de Lioncourt if you want, by the way. I liked that character more than the whining, annoying, pathetic, tedious Louis.”

“I’m surprised you’ve seen the film,” John added as he smiled at Sherlock. “You look good. Dapper. Like a proper Victorian gentleman. I often imagine you as a Victorian crime fighter. It’s strange but I can see you running around a smoggy London solving crime with me. I'd have a ridiculous moustache and bowler hat,” he chuckled as he checked he had his phone and wallet. “Ready?”

Putting the hat into place Sherlock nodded and leaned on the cane with a faint grin. “Indeed. Come, Watson, let us hail a cab,” he drawled in an extremely posh English accent and swept an arm at the door, bending faintly at the waist.

“Very well, old boy!” John mocked with a happy giggle which went slightly high pitched as he brushed past Sherlock holding open the door. “The game is afoot!”


	2. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a nightmare at parties.
> 
> There is a brief mention of women in the story but they don't last. I promise.

“Where is it exactly?” Sherlock asked as he stepped out and lifted a hand sophisticatedly, gesturing to a passing taxi until it pulled up at his feet. He grinned back at John and opened the car door, being mindful of his hat as he slipped into the backseat.

John gave the address of the party and relaxed back into the seat as the cabbie sped through the London streets. It was only 7:30pm and the streets had started to fill with groups of small children trick or treating with their parents. John smiled as he witnessed a gaggle of Disney characters rush towards an old lady who handed out handfuls of cavity causing sweets, which would no doubt have, the young children buzzing with the effects of a sugar high.

The cabbie pulled over and thanked John as the doctor handed over the money and exited the car with a hop when his boots got caught on the trim of the door.

“So… er… most of the people coming here are married but Mike mentioned that there might be a girl… well... a woman who he wanted to fix me up with.” John coughed nervously and watched as Sherlock narrowed his eyes and slumped his shoulders with a scowl.

“Brilliant. I’m going back then,” he mumbled and turned to re-enter the taxi.

“No! No, no, no!” John held his hands out and touched Sherlock’s chest, holding him firmly. “It’s not like that. She won’t… I won’t leave you on your own. She might not even be here… or she might be hideous!” John pouted again. “Please? Stay, I’ll owe you an even bigger one if you stay.”

Sherlock squinted at John with narrowed eyes and then sighed and looked skyward in annoyance, relenting. “Fine,” he murmured and gestured irritably for John to go on ahead. “Why did Stamford think it prudent to “fix” you up, anyway? What exactly did you say to him? He doesn’t do such things unless you give him reasons, unless you idly mention something.”

John looked away and cleared his throat. In truth, Stamford had come to him as a friend to ask advice on a personal and highly embarrassing sexual matter. Mike had found himself orgasming prematurely much to his embarrassment with his wife who was beginning to become annoyed with the situation. Mike had spoken to John, doctor to doctor and had been reassured by blood tests and advice not to worry. During the conversation, John had joked that he had been having a dry patch of late and his bollocks were becoming a deep blue colour. Thinking no more of it, John had continued to work and treat patients until days later when Mike had text with an invitation to the party and a mention of a single female friend.

“We er… just talked.” John shrugged and blushed, pushing past Sherlock and up the stairs to the front door, giving it a firm knock.

Sherlock groaned in frustration, “Oh God. You mentioned the fact that you’ve not had sex in five months, didn’t you? Why? Why did you have to go and do that, John? What does it matter? You masturbate and achieve quite spectacular orgasms, so what’s your problem?” John gasped as the door was opened by the wife of the host, finding herself face to face with Sherlock saying the words ‘Spectacular orgasms,’ obviously startled her into taking a step back.

John fixed his friend with a glare and a grumble of, “We’ll speak about this later,” before reaching up and kissing the woman on the cheek and introducing himself with his usual charm firmly in place. The woman was red faced and flustered, but kindly invited the two men inside with a sweep of her arms; John nodded in thanks and pressed passed her carefully, whereas Sherlock eyed the woman up and tilted his head with a snort at what he saw, following behind John at a leisurely pace as John walked straight to the kitchen where he knew the beer would be kept.

Sherlock took off his hat, smoothing his slicked back hair back into position as he looked around the nicely decorated kitchen, taking in the information ( _Wife had an affair with the Avon lady)_ before noticing Molly lingering near the doorway to the kitchen, clad in a clinging black latex cat woman costume. Sherlock arched his eyebrows at her, prompting the timid woman to splutter and spill her drink down herself which was quickly wiped away with a square of kitchen roll before she shot them a wonky and slightly tipsy smile.  


“Oh, um, hello Sherlock. I… I didn’t think you’d be—”

Sherlock nodded and pointed his cane at John. “He all but forced my hand, Molly,” he said. “Although, I don’t understand why he insisted I come when he’s merely here to lend his unused penis to some desperate woman. He wrote me a contract.”

Molly blinked and sneaked a glance at John, “Um…”  
  
“What am I, your wingman? Do you look good in comparison?” Sherlock scoffed at John, eyeing the assortment of booze.

“Sherlock, can we not tell people about my unused penis?!” John spluttered, apologising to Molly before grabbing his friends arm and pulling him to one side. “It’s only unused because I’ve been busy working and… well… I haven’t really been feeling well. Had a bit of a cold and erm… it’s been sunny,” he attempted to think of an excuse. “But can we not talk about my lack of sex? I’m already mortified that you seem to know. Also… thinking about it, how do you know about my orgasms?” John asked, looking around to ensure nobody could hear.

“John, we live together,” Sherlock told him in reply and frowned, fiddling with the silver handle of his cane. “What if you… like this woman? What then? You’re telling me you won’t go swanning off with her?”

“Even if we live together, you shouldn’t know about my orgasms!” John seethed and gave a pained smile when someone turned round with a look of shock at overhearing John’s words. “No I… I don’t know. I’m not really looking for anything long term… not that I can anyway when you scare them all off. I just want… affection,” John grimaced.

Sherlock moved back to regard John silently for two long, tense moments, and then rolled his eyes, put down his top hat and leaned his cane against a nearby wall, before pulling John roughly into an awkward embrace, hooking his head atop John’s head. John held his arms out stiffly, blinking rapidly and inhaling the scent of Sherlock’s brylcream and aftershave. Sherlock smelt wonderful, his own scent peeked from his shirt whilst the spicy aroma of his aftershave ( _made custom in Paris)_ made John’s head spin as John tapped Sherlock on the back awkwardly. “Yes… Yes thank you. That’s… yup that’s rather uncomfortable now. Your… your mobile is digging into my stomach… at least I hope that’s your phone,” John gulped.

“Hm? Oh, no,” Sherlock said as he stepped back and pulled out a very large and very sharp knife, as well as an assortment of others, a lot of them surgical. “I am Jack the Ripper, after all.”

“Jesus! You could have disembowelled me!” John chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea you get them out at the party. You might start a bit of a panic.”

“Hm,” Sherlock hummed with a grin, though he packed them away again and cocked his head to the side and motioning aside with his eyes when Mike bounded over, made up to be Frankenstein’s monster, complete with bolts stuck to his neck. He looked absolutely delighted to see Sherlock and grasped his shoulder warmly, adjusting the glasses on his nose.

“Alright mate,” John beamed, slapping Mike on the shoulder blade, knocking his glasses back down slightly. “You look good!”

“Thanks mate, as do you,” Mike smiled and turned his attention to John. “Although I guess you didn’t put much effort into the costume.”

“Admit I look good in everything,” John dropped a hip and put a hand on his head in a classic supermodel pose which made him look far more camp than intended.

“I’m sure Tracy will think so,” Mike winked. “I must admit, I like getting people together. Setting them up. I always thought you would make a good couple if you weren’t so bloody stubborn.”

“I’m not gay!” John sighed at the same time as Sherlock rolled his eyes and added, “John’s not gay.”

“Fine… fine.” Mike waved their comments away and began to gesture to a young lady behind John. The dark haired woman click-clacked her way towards John; she was dressed as a pirate, complete with large hat, eyepatch, parrot and thigh high heel boots with a large amount of cleavage on display.

“John Watson,” Mike started. “This is Tracy Simms. Tracy, this is Dr John Watson.”

“Pleasure,” John smiled coyly and looked appreciatively over his date's body.

Sherlock took a step forward, his beaky nose haughtily in the air as he looked down at the people around him. “No, no, no, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong,” Sherlock suddenly cut in as she pointed his cane at Tracy’s outfit, swirling it over her figure. “Do you know nothing about pirates or history, even? Who are you meant to be?”  
  
Tracy blinked and frowned, glancing between John and Mike, “Well, I—”  
  
“Is that meant to be a cutlass?” Sherlock scoffed, jabbing the plastic sword strapped to her hips.

“Sherlock, it’s not a history presentation,” John huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes towards Tracy in an attempt to coax a smile. “It’s just a Halloween costume.”

“A horridly unimaginative one,” Sherlock said as he glanced between Tracy and John, frowning and then pressing his lips together tightly in frustration. He shot a glare at Mike, who shrugged at him in reply, and then Sherlock snatched up his top hat and stalked off, with a look of contempt that he didn’t bother to try and disguise. The expression on his face made the costume he wore all the more menacing as he took Molly gently by the elbow and walked away with her.

“Is… he okay?” Tracy asked with a huff of laughter.

“He’s always like that. He just looks more dramatic when he’s dressed as a Victorian serial killer,” John smiled and turned on his infamous Watson charm. He asked Tracy questions whilst talking about his job at the clinic and the work he did with Sherlock. “Sherlock’s a genius really, he just has this way of seeing things… things nobody else would ever notice but he does. He can tell someones whole life just from looking,” John smiled warmly. “We live together too, not _‘together, together_ _’_ you understand. Just flatmates.”

“Yeah, Mike said,” Tracy replied.

“Sherlock’s a chemist,” John continued, barely noticing the look of boredom passing across Tracy’s eyes as John began an anecdote about Sherlock’s love of experiments and how he particularly enjoyed destroying John’s belongings.

Tracy gave a supportive smile at him, “You two are really close, huh?” She asked nicely, adjusting her eye patch. “But… I can’t see how you could put up with all that. I mean, no offence, I don’t know him… but he sounds like a bit of a dick.” She winced but shrugged, waving a slender hand in the direction of Sherlock who was still with Molly, his hand curled around a drink he wasn’t touching. Molly nervously drank from her own drink, fiddling with the straw as she turned to make conversation with another person, leaving Sherlock standing at her back.

“No… No, I can see how people can think that but you don’t know him he’s just… intense. He’s wonderful really. He’s funny and goofy and insanely loyal… wait, I’ve made him sound like a dog but he really is great. He’s a real genius, he can read people so perfectly, can tell their whole life story just from one look and people think it’s weird. I did. But now I think it’s just… amazing. He’s amazing,” John smiled, dragging his eyes away from Sherlock and back to Tracy. “So er… Favourite music?”

Tracy was faintly frowning at him but quirked another smile and listed her favourite bands, talking in depth about one in particular. Over her shoulder, John could see that as Molly drifted around talking to other people, Sherlock followed with an impassive face, his eyes barely looking up from the floor until someone touched his arm. A pretty woman dressed as Morticia Addams stroked the fabric of Sherlock’s costume, running her long, pale fingers along the seam until she reached his silver pocket watch. Her beautiful sleek black hair trailed down her back and her blood red lips pouted flirtaciously as she took the antique watch into her hands and traced over the face. Sherlock frowned until Morticia said something to make him smile, a genuine grin which momentarily made John feel sick.

“What about you? What’s your favourite music or band?” Tracy asked John.

“What? Oh er… I like most things. Old stuff mainly, punk and erm…” he trailed off and looked over at the woman flirting with Sherlock and narrowing his eyes, “souly stuff. Does that woman look like she’s flirting with Sherlock?”

“What?” Tracy blinked, glancing over as the woman playfully put Sherlock’s top hat back on his head, leaning into his side to adjust it. “Um, yeah. Seems like it. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Hmm, yeah, suppose.” John frowned but then shook his head and returned to Tracy. “Sorry, so yeah, Older stuff mainly. Big fan of The Jam and The Clash, I actually used to own a scooter when I was younger and used to go out with my mates in our parkas,” John grinned before blinking towards Sherlock again who was talking to the woman, his lips right next to her ear whilst he smiled confidently. “I… scooter… yeah.”

“I'd love to see that,” Tracy laughed gently, her arm lightly touching John’s. John lowered his eyes to the black painted nails against his army fatigues but immediately lifted them back to look at Sherlock who was now drinking from a cup offered to him, actually taking a sip with a charming expression towards the gothic woman who linked arms with him and tugged him away from Molly without Molly actually noticing. Sherlock peered over at John quickly but followed his new found friend around the corner and out of John’s line of sight.

“Where… Sher—” John cleared his throat and peered behind Tracy in an attempt to stealthily look for Sherlock who was hidden behind the adjoining wall. “Can I... get you another drink?” John asked without waiting for a reply as he took her glass and walked towards the kitchen. He looked through the exposed archway which joined the kitchen and living rooms where Sherlock sat on the seat with Morticia sitting on the arm. John glared heatedly at the woman before pouring himself and Tracy a fresh drink. His pirate date had obviously wondered what was taking so long and wandered to meet John at the counter, taking the offered drink with a smile.

“Are you okay?” Tracy asked carefully, just as Morticia slipped herself down from the arm to sit on Sherlock’s knee, her long and tight fitting dress pulled deliciously tight against her curves. John expected Sherlock to jump from the chair, knocking her onto the floor without a care and forcing John to apologise and make amends with the hosts but the detective surprised his friend by allowing it with a charming grin, wiggling slightly to become more comfortable as he curled his arm around her trim waist and rested his hand against her lightly whilst she whispered something seductively into his ear, her crimson lipstick smearing over his earlobe as she grinned.

“Why is she doing that?” John mumbled before clearing his throat and looking towards Tracy. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Are you fine? I’m just… keeping an eye out for danger… being a soldier and that.” He gave a wink and then turned back to stare at Sherlock and his flirty companion.

“Danger?” Tracy repeated as Sherlock took a drink and the woman as Morticia caressed his cheeks and throat as he swallowed. “Um. Right. Do you want to dance, John?”

“Dance?” John frowned before nodding. “Yeah, yeah let's dance.”

John took his dates hand and lead her towards the living room where a space had already been cleared in a makeshift dancefloor. Various monsters were already dancing including a werewolf cuddling up and kissing a cheerleader zombie as slow music played through the speakers. John put his arm around Tracy’s waist and held her close, swaying to the music and smiling at her as they danced.

Tracy beamed, her smile wide and flirtatious as she pressed close and pushed her warm body against his. “I love this song, too,” she whispered. John didn’t bother to respond as they stepped and turned in time with the music causing John to have a perfect view of Sherlock and the woman together; the Morticia Addams lady was stroking long fingernails through Sherlock’s curls which had fallen from his slicked back hair in the heat whilst she sipped and shared Sherlock’s drink, leaving trails of lipstick on the rim of the glass which seemed to call John’s attention like a beacon.

Sherlock smiled at her and bent down to say something which made her smirk and laugh gently, her hand dropping to his thigh… dangerously close to Sherlock’s genitals. John’s mouth went dry, his hearing fading out as he watched red tipped nails skirt closer to Sherlock’s bulge.

Tracy twisted her body, lifting her head to break John’s line of sight as she wrapped her arms around John’s neck and smiled, touching John’s outfit with curious fingers. “Hmm, the song is good,” John agreed without really thinking. He hadn’t even been aware of what song was playing as he watched Sherlock flirt and felt the unfamiliar bubbling of jealousy and rage building in his lower stomach. He needed to see what was happening between the two, but Tracy was in the way.

John turned slightly, putting his weight onto one leg he dipped Tracy towards the floor. John held her tight, her weight easily managed by one arm around her waist and the other cupping the back of her head. John focussed on Sherlock and his interested woman, it almost looked like… like the woman was about to lunge and kiss Sherlock.

John’s heart thudded rapidly as jealousy and resentment built up to critical levels, he didn’t think as he let go of Tracy, ignoring her gasp of shock as she fell to the floor with a thump only to be stepped over by John as the soldier marched towards the chair which housed his flatmate’s plush arse. John squared his shoulders and placed his thick palm between their lips, pulling his hand back with a grimace as it came away marked with a perfect crimson outline of her lips. John stared at the mark as though it had actually committed a crime against his person.

“What the hell are you doing?” John asked loudly, ignoring the woman’s indignant displeasure and the sound of Tracy shouting in the background.

Sherlock flitted his eyes around briefly and then tilted his head as the woman frowned at John. “What are _you_ doing?” She asked back at him, slipping an arm around Sherlock’s neck, her painted, long nails stroking from his jawline to the collar of his shirt.

“John!” Tracy screeched angrily as Mike and a man dressed as a pumpkin helped her up from the floor. “Why did you do that?”

“We need to have a word,” John growled, glaring at Sherlock then Morticia and back to Sherlock, “right now.”

“All right,” Sherlock murmured as he adjusted his hat and grabbed for his cane. He slipped elegantly to his feet, unravelling the woman’s arms from around him as he tutted and slapped them away when she reached for him again. “Desist woman! John, let’s go.”

John marched off angrily, ignoring the high pitched angry expletive which Tracy shouted after the pair as she turned and walked away towards the alcohol with the pumpkin in tow. John opened the patio doors and exited into the cold October air, breathing out with a puff of smoke which dissipated above him into the cloudless night. The garden was larger than John had expected with a footpath in the centre of two patches of grass which had been decorated with plastic tombstones, fairylights and carved pumpkins which glittered with lit candles. It gave the whole area a faintly surreal aura as John walked away from the house before turning immediately on Sherlock, his eyes sparkling with rage. “What the hell was that about?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” Sherlock huffed as he tapped his cane on the floor and looked around before he stepped closer to John and smirked faintly with a sneer. “It’s perfectly fine for you to grope and flirt with strange women, but if I do it it’s, what, against the rules? Are there rules, now John?”

“You don’t do that. You told me. "Married to your work" you said.” John pointed at Sherlock’s chest before taking a deep breath and pulling away. “I just… She wasn’t good for you. She just wanted you because you look sexy in that costume. That’s all. She wasn’t interested in you for your brain or personality.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Sherlock scoffed as he wiped away the lipstick still on his ear with a look of disgust, adjusting his suit. “You realise that whatever you felt whilst watching me with that woman, is exactly what I feel watching you? Every single woman that you’ve met, that you’ve dated, they are all not good for you. Every. Single. One. But when I try and tell you, when I try and save you from a tediously exasperating relationship, you yell at me. Do you know how frustrating it is to see one's friend being led down the wrong path with a woman over and over and over again? It’s pathetic and annoying! And now, now that I take your example, do what is considered “normal,” and leave you to make an obviously stupid mistake with what’s-her-name, you still yell at me!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, I am! But I can’t live the way you do! I can’t live without sex and affection. You might not need the pleasure or the comfort of another body but I do! If I for one moment thought that I could, then I'd be happy spending all of my time with you, just you! I… I care for you. I hate when I have to leave you but I can’t live without sex and affection Sherlock, and if this is the way that I have to find it, then it’s something we’ll have to deal with” John panted with the frenzied words, refusing to think about what he was saying as he shook his head sadly. “I have no right to get jealous but I do, I don’t want anyone else to know how… special you are because then you’ll leave me and I’ll be alone again.”

Sherlock blinked at him rapidly, straightening his spine with a widening of his eyes, “You… you were jealous?” He repeated. “…You get jealous and you’re afraid that I’ll be the one to leave? John… you… are—If anyone were leaving, it would be you! You want the family life, the wife, and the children. You want more than what I’ve given you, what I can give you. You’re the one leaving me alone in the flat to, to chase anything with breasts that just so happens to flutter their eyelashes at you! I’ll be the one alone in the end of all this. Not you.”

“I want you!” John shouted, unaware of how loudly his voice was carrying. “I’ve only wanted you. I go out with women in a desperate attempt to fill in the void of loneliness I feel when you’re away from the flat or ignoring me for days. If I could spend every hour of every day with you, I would. I'd give up everything. I’ll never leave you, never!”

John could feel the tears welling in his eyes as he spoke the words directly from his heart. His hands moved to wrap themselves in the cape around Sherlock’s shoulders and John realised that he was only millimetres away from Sherlock’s pink lips. John looked up and into Sherlock’s cerulean eyes, sparkling in the pumpkin candle light, and then back down to his lips.

“Tell me no, if it’s not what you want. Please, say no but I… I have to.”

Sherlock seemed to be frozen, his face oddly open and confused as his eyes flickered from side to side and then looked down at John, frowning at him, until he leaned the small space between them and kissed John’s mouth. The kiss was extremely light and Sherlock exhaled through his nose in a cloud of hot air against John’s face.

John hummed into the embrace and tightened his hold onto Sherlock’s body by wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck, pulling him in tighter whilst their kisses remained chaste and close lipped. His thicker fingers tangled into Sherlock’s curls, attempting to replace the memory of the woman’s fingers embedded in the silky strands. Sherlock’s hat fell to the floor but neither man noticed as Sherlock scrabbled for purchase against John’s fatigues, opening his lips slightly to deepen the kiss with a deep and satisfied groan. John mirrored the sound as the exotic taste of Sherlock flooded his senses, a mixture of gin and tonic combined with mint and something spicy which was undeniably Sherlock rushed at John and left him aroused and dizzy as he pulled back, surveying Sherlock’s still shocked face before he placed soft and tender kisses on either side of pink bow lips.

Sherlock’s mouth twitched and then curled into a small smile that tensed and pursed when he eyed John up close, his curls in disarray, “…Not exactly sure what this means?” He murmured huskily, one of his hands curling around John’s arm hotly. “And, you do realise that the entire party is watching us, don’t you?”

John looked behind Sherlock’s back, blushing when Mike started a round of applause with a mouthing of the word "finally". John let his head fall onto Sherlock’s chest and huffed a laugh whilst shaking his head, “I don’t know what it means… but I think we should continue it at home?”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed instantly as he deftly used his cane to collect his fallen hat, his lips and cheeks flushed. “I hate it here. Promise me that you’ll never drag me to one of these so-called parties again. Promise me.”

“Oh I don’t know. I think it worked out alright,” John grinned and kissed Sherlock again, loving the way Sherlock froze for two seconds after each touch. “We both pulled.”

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes, then grabbed for John’s wrist, dragging him through the house and out the front door, vaguely smiling at Mike who patted them both on the back happily with a wink. Sherlock ignored the woman dressed as Morticia completely as she tried to catch his attention and reach for him, her hand falling short when Sherlock nimbly ducked aside with John. The doctor looked through the arch and grinned as he saw Tracy pushing her pumpkin outfitted friend up against the sideboard, snogging him roughly as he grabbed at her lush and curvy arse. John chuckled slightly and pulled on Sherlock’s hand harder, leaving the front door and throwing up his hand for a taxi.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be smut!

Sherlock was silent on the drive back, staring out of the window at the London traffic passing by unblinkingly whilst his hand flexed around the silver handle of his antique cane. His other hand drummed on the space between his and John’s bodies; John considered putting his hand over Sherlock’s own, calming him but he didn’t think that the detective would appreciate the gesture. The two men sat in slightly awkward silence whilst the taxi driver sang along tunelessly to Roberta Flack’s ‘First time ever I saw your face’.

When the cabbie finally pulled up to the curb of Baker street, Sherlock leaped quickly from the vehicle as usual and disappeared up the stairs, pushing past Mrs Hudson who was giving out sweets and home baked goodies to a small crowd of trick or treating children on their doorstep. John grumbled as he fished out his wallet from his camouflage trousers and paid the driver before walking towards his landlady. He fought his way through the crowd of children dressed as various Disney characters and a token ghost with a sheet over his head, patting each young child on the head so not to startle then when a soldier walked into them. John smiled at Mrs Hudson and kissed her cheek sweetly as he finally made it to the front door.

“Sherlock was in a bit of a hurry, John love,” the kindly lady smiled. “He looks even more dramatic than usual with his cape instead of the silly coat.”

John chuckled and nodded. “I think he’s had too many sweets. I’ll try to get him to keep the noise down when he’s banging…” He cleared his throat and blushed. “Around! Banging around because of the sugar. Goodnight, Mrs Hudson,” he said quickly as he turned and rushed up the stairs, closing the front door behind him with a resounding slam as he leaned against it.

Sherlock turned to look at him with an arched eyebrow as he took off his cloak, suit jacket and hat in one sweeping gesture. He looked away from John as he rested his cane against his chair and ran a hand through his slicked back hair in a motion of meekness, his mouth a white tinged tight line.

“Well…” John started before tailing off. “I think we should… er… drink. Yeah, where’s that bottle of whisky we got from the Sanderson case?” He asked as he walked to the kitchen and opened and closed cupboards seemingly at random until he found the slightly dusty bottle in the cereal cupboard. Pouring two good measures into unmatching glasses, he handed one to Sherlock and carefully clinked the glass together.

Sherlock sighed and fiddled with his glass as he took it. “John, I…” He looked down at the drink and then up to John’s face before looking around the room seeming uncomfortable suddenly. He cringed and glared at the floor, turning to sit in his chair with a slump of his body and a deep, resonating grumble.

“What? Have you changed your mind? It’s fine by the way… if you have. I mean if you don’t feel the same about me. I won’t move out…” John grimaced and drank his whisky in one go before pouring a second larger measure and walking to sit in his chair opposite Sherlock. Realising how utterly silly they looked still in their costumes.

“I don’t do relationships,” Sherlock told him in a murmur, pointing his glass at John. “And you’re not gay.”

John considered Sherlock’s comment for a moment before shrugging. “We don’t need to change much. We already live and work together as well as being best friends… it’s just the extra… intimacy that would change. Unless you don’t want that? Which is fine.”

“What sort of intimacy are we talking about?” Sherlock asked him. “Kissing? Do I have to hug you? I can hug you, if you want. I hugged you at the party – though you didn’t seem much of a fan of the embrace. Did I do it wrong? You can’t hug incorrectly, can you?” Sherlock’s eyes gave that glassy look that John recognised as his Mind Palace browsing. John snapped his fingers, watching as Sherlock returned with a rapid blinking fit.

John smiled warmly at his best friend. “No, it was great. You didn’t do it wrong, I was just a bit surprised was all. I don’t know what sort of intimacy. Maybe we could occasionally share a bed? I’ve always wondered if it would make you sleep more if we cuddled. M-Maybe… mutual masturbation? If that’s something you do… I don’t… I’ve never noticed,” he stammered, wondering if he had gone red with embarrassment at talking so openly.

“Sharing a bed I can do,” Sherlock shrugged as he finished his drink and put the glass down. “The masturbation thing though— I don’t do that. Or, not often. I’m not like you.” Sherlock smirked faintly and then sniffed as he got up, walking to linger beside John’s chair.

“Oh… er… Okay.” John nodded and took another drink. “Have you ever… with anyone before? I mean anything? I didn’t believe Mycroft when he said you were a virgin but I don’t know.”

Sherlock scoffed at the mention of his brother and scratched the back of his neck. “I did certain things in college,” he told John with a furrowed brow as he attempted to recall the events. “I wasn’t a fan. However, I could try again, with you, if you wanted me to. If it’ll keep you here with me I’m prepared to attempt anal penetration.”

“No,” John whispered before his voice became louder and he pulled Sherlock down to his level, cupping his cheeks with his thicker hands. “I don’t want you to do things just to keep me here. I’ll stay here regardless. I want you to do things like that with me because you want to let me pleasure you. Please, never do anything you’re uncomfortable with and please tell me if you are. Promise?”

Sherlock froze and then blinked at the passion in John’s words, focussing on John's face. “All right. I promise,” he rumbled and smiled at John faintly, leaning into John’s touch with a sigh. “However, you’ll bore of me. You said you need intimacy and sex. What if I cannot give that to you? You’ll find it elsewhere, right? Like you have been doing up until this point.”

John blushed and cleared his throat. “What are your feelings on staying with me whilst I… er… touch myself? Maybe… talking a little? Or kissing me? Would you get bored? It’s a fairly repetitive activity.” He looked away embarrassed and awkwardly British. “I don’t know what I’m going to be comfortable with. I’ve never really been with a man before… I mean… shared wanks in the barracks is one thing but I don’t know what I want to happen and I think that’s a good starting point.” John lifted his glass to his mouth, congratulating himself on getting the embarrassing words out.

“I love you,” Sherlock suddenly uttered out of the blue, his eyes on John’s mouth, “and I have an erection. If that helps any?”

John was swallowing the amber liquid when Sherlock uttered the three words that John didn’t realise he had needed to hear. The doctor choked, coughing roughly on the alcohol as it burnt his throat and made his eyes water until tracks stained his cheeks. He thumped on his chest before finally managing to get a hold of himself. “I… I love you too,” John whispered, blaming the broken voice on the choking fit and not the emotion which was flooding through him at the realisation that Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes loved him. “And I’m glad about the other thing too. Do you… want to do something about it? Together?”

“All right,” Sherlock nodded and straightened up, tugging on his waistcoat as he turned on his heel and walked into his bedroom, leaving the door wide open in invitation. He glanced back at John briefly with an endearing blush before slipping out of sight.

John took a moment to compose himself and make sense of what was about to happen. He was about to have sex with Sherlock, his best friend, flatmate, workmate, everything. He was about to finally get what he wanted yet the nervousness was gnawing away at his lower stomach; his cock had begun to harden knowing that Sherlock was hard but this anxiety over his newly recognised sexuality was making him nervous as he tidied around the living room, taking and washing their glasses and clearing the worktops quickly before walking the small space towards Sherlock’s room. Standing in the doorway, John realised that he still had his boots on and walked to the edge of the bed, sitting down and beginning to unlace them slowly.

Sherlock watched him and then sat down close beside him, toeing off his own shoes and unlatching his pocket watch with dexterous fingers. Putting the watch aside, Sherlock leaned back and brought out the assortment of blades, hiding them away in a nearby drawer. John tutted and rolled his eyes with a soft smile as Sherlock chuckled to himself before standing nervously, swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet as he watched John unlace his footwear.

John finally kicked off his boots and stood to full height, his fatigues made a zipping noise as he walked towards Sherlock to cup his face. Sherlock looked down, blinking rapidly and licking his lips as he scanned John’s features; John ran his thumb across Sherlock’s cheekbones and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s own, keeping the kiss chaste at first before opening his lips and deepening it with tongue and teeth. His tongue slid teasingly into Sherlock’s mouth, caressing his own tongue as John let one hand slide down towards the back of Sherlock’s neck, sighing happily. Sherlock was still fully dressed, his dark suit must have been stifling but he didn’t complain as he wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders and shuffled them gracelessly towards the bed where they both sat down before laying on their sides facing one another.

John pulled his mouth away from Sherlock with a sloppy, wet sound as he rested their foreheads against one another. Sherlock looked utterly wrecked, his lips were already kiss swollen and his pupils were huge and black, almost completely taking over the coloured iris. John moved his fingers to Sherlock’s waistcoat and began carefully unbuttoning the shiny buttons, leaning forward to lick and nuzzle at Sherlock’s jawline, listening to Sherlock’s breathing hitch when John found a particularly sensitive spot.

“John,” Sherlock whispered brokenly. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

The doctor gave a final kiss to Sherlock’s neck before pulling away. “I want to leave my vest on… my scar…” he mumbled, hiding his face in the space between Sherlock’s shoulder and cheek.

Sherlock made a grunting huff but nodded as his fingers moved to open John’s fatigue shirt. He made quick work of the fabric and soon pulled it off and away, leaving John clad in his vest with his exposed dogtags on show. Sherlock stilled, looking up at John’s face and then down to the shiny metal which he ran his fingers over. “I didn’t know you still had them.”

“Hmm,” John shrugged, his hands attempting to figure out the intricate buckles and holes of Sherlock’s intricate costume. He managed to untuck the shirt from Sherlock’s trousers and ran his hands beneath the still closed shirt; he was slightly surprised at finding chest hair and pulled back with a gasp before calming himself. “Sorry, didn’t expect to find chest hair. Made me realise that… that you’re you and this means something.”

Sherlock blushed gently across his cheeks and kissed John sweetly. John returned the kiss before pulling away and whispering, “You really are beautiful.”

“Hush now,” Sherlock grumbled, but blushed darker.

John scratched slightly across the raised nubs of Sherlock’s nipples, which caused the younger man to jolt and jerk with a gasp. John grinned, looking up at Sherlock who snarkily huffed, “Don’t look so smug.”

John tracked the pink blush which mottled Sherlock’s pretty, pale skin from cheek to chest. Sherlock pulled John for another kiss, licking into his lover’s mouth as he lifted John’s vest to unveil his slightly hairy stomach. Sherlock ran his fingers across John’s navel and across the small amount of pudgy tummy which had formed since his retirement from the army (which Sherlock secretly loved). The blush darkened into a blotchy pink and red flush when John pressed his hand against Sherlock’s bulge, feeling the throbbing length under his palm. Sherlock gasped, arching his back and closing his eyes as he bit his lower lip to stop any embarrassing sounds escaping.

“No,” John groaned, “I want to hear you.”

“It’s demeaning,” Sherlock sulked. “I sound like a teenager.”

“Don’t care,” John reassured him, kissing him passionately and with a heat that Sherlock hadn’t expected. “So sexy. Need to hear you.”

Sherlock nodded and gave a soft gasp when John flicked his hand and pressed harder, teasing the length with his fingers as he bit and nibbled on Sherlock’s earlobe, tasting the lingering taste of lipstick from Morticia Addams earlier in the evening. John felt the first bubble of jealousy and kissed down Sherlock’s neck, sucking a dark purple mark into the skin as a reminder that tonight had really happened.

“As lovely as this is,” Sherlock groaned, his voice strained with lust, “I feel that if I don’t do something about my erection, I may explode.”

John smirked and nodded, carefully unbuttoning Sherlock’s trousers and pulling down the zip to give him access to the slightly damp skin inside. John exhaled softly, flicking his eyes up to Sherlock’s and stilling when the detective raised an eyebrow. “You look really nervous, John,” the younger man teased with a deep, rumbling laugh.

“Oh, shows does it?” John quipped back, letting his fingers curl around the surprising length of Sherlock’s shaft. “This is all new to me remember… being a man and also being with someone I actually… y’know…” he trailed off, unwilling to say the word ‘love’ again, believing that the novelty might wear off and eventually it would become an everyday word with less meaning. “I want this to be good, I want it to work.”

Pressing himself closer to John’s chest, Sherlock draped his leg over John’s hip causing the fabric of his trousers to become tighter, pushing John’s hand closer onto his cock as he rolled his hips. “Don’t be nervous, John. You’ve done this before. Sex I mean… We are going to have sex, aren’t we?”

“Let’s just take it slow,” John whispered, kissing Sherlock softly as he stroked his thumb across Sherlock’s frenulum and spread the precum around. “More touching is good. Your hands, jesus, let me see your hands on me,” John begged, arching his back and pushing his clothed bulge against the back of his own hand. “I love your hands.”

“You do, why?” Sherlock asked after a stutter of stillness, lifting his hands to touch John’s face and neck, one of them leaving his skin to wander across the bed.

“They’re so long and beautiful. I love watching them when you play the violin or experiment. I’ve thought about them a lot whilst I…” John stopped and bit his lip nervously, he wasn’t sure if admitted he wanked over Sherlock’s hands was a good or bad thing.

“Would you like me to touch your penis with one?” Sherlock inquired seriously, already pushing one hand down John’s body to cup his erection through his camouflage trousers with a grin and new flush of colour across his cheeks, his pulse point fluttering with his rapidly beating heart.

“Oh god please, Sherlock touch me,” John groaned, his hips already thrusting up to meet Sherlock’s hand as all thoughts skittered away. John watched Sherlock’s face as their eyes met, John could only gasp as a look of complete tenderness and devotion showed in Sherlock’s gaze. He swallowed roughly, his throat suddenly clamping shut with a lump which caused a small choked gulp between them.

Sherlock opened John’s trousers and pushed his hand inelegantly inside to wrap around John’s leaking cock. Sherlock groaned, bucking his hips and groaning louder when John got the message and began to stroke quickly with a twist at the tip around Sherlock’s foreskin.

“Take… take them off,” Sherlock groaned. “I need to see.”

“You too,” John agreed, pulling his hand out of Sherlock’s trousers and fighting with his own clothing to pull down his pants to midthigh. His cock was flushed almost purple and pressed against his stomach as John gave it a few teasing strokes in an attempt to stop the ache which had built inside. Sherlock did the same thing, pulling his pants down to his knees and twisting his body so that his longer cock could be pressed against John’s thicker one. Entwining their fingers, the two men kissed passionately as they rolled their hips and thrust into the makeshift tunnel of their hands.

John heard a soft whimper escape Sherlock followed by a deep groan. Wetness splashed against his hand and cock as Sherlock’s prick twitched and erupted in an eruption of thick white come. John’s breathing hitched, his hips pressing harder, faster and more desperate as he chased his orgasm. Remembering John’s comment about his hands, Sherlock stroked his fingers across John’s lips before pushing them into the warm and wet lips, pressing softly against John’s tongue and groaning at the thought that maybe, he could one day enjoy oral sex from his lover. John’s eyes widened, rolling back slightly as a full body shudder ran through him and he began to come with a deep snarl around Sherlock’s fingers. Spurts of come covered pale skin and their hands as John gave a final thrust and teased the remaining drops onto the bedding below.

“Good lord,” John whispered with a silly giggle as Sherlock carefully removed his fingers and wiped them onto the covers. “I can’t… you’ve broken me.”

“I thought you were three continents Watson?” Sherlock teased. “I can’t imagine you got that reputation from almost passing out after a quick frottage session.”

“Hmmmnn,” John agreed, snuggling into the warmth of Sherlock’s body. “I’ll clean up in a while.”

“No rush,” Sherlock grinned and stroked his fingers through John’s hair. “Sleep now, Captain.”


End file.
